Echo
by Adam Kadmon
Summary: Chopin ruins Rei and Shinji's day.


Echo

Disclaimer: I do not own Evangelion

/\/\/\/\

Rei played the viola. The bow hummed across the strings and filled the empty concert hall. She stared at the score on the stand before her as a guide but memory conducted the notes. She sat still and did not sway or move with the music, she did not tap her foot to keep pace. She played with calm neutrality focused on precision.

NERV's concert hall was a long domed tunnel, sloping downward to a wide stage. Pillared tiers lined the walls. It was built in accordance with the Geofront's public-friendly façade to the outside world, housing an agency vital to the planet's defense but not one lacking humanity, or lacking sensitivity to human needs. Rei was the only person to ever use the facility. Among the staff it was an eyesore and a waste of space; they avoided and forgot about it, and it became a safe area to practice.

It wasn't shyness that made her practice alone in the hall. The viola was a precious gift from the Commander and demanded its safety be prioritized. It was not like the glasses she was allowed to keep: the instrument was presented to her, given, and must be treated with the utmost caution and care. The fewer people that knew of it, the less danger it was in. She kept it in a private locker in an anteroom behind the stage built for performers but never used by anyone except her. Rei did not harbor any fantasy of being professionally skilled but was aware of her strengths and weaknesses and held no pretension regarding either. Her ability was what it was and no one told her otherwise. So she played, secure in the solitude.

Rei continued to the end of the page, stopping with a sigh of strings. She looked up beyond her sheet music to find Shinji Ikari poking his head out from behind one of the middle pillars supporting the upper tiers of the hall. He startled at being caught and ducked out of sight.

"Ikari," she said, her voice resonating though the chamber. She wasn't angry or embarrassed at being spied on, but understood it was a natural human inclination. She was well aware from her upbringing a degree of voyeuristic curiosity was present in man.

Shinji dragged himself out from behind the pillar. His face was red and his shoulders were hunched up by his ears. His right hand flexed once.

"Uh, hi," he mumbled, and jumped slightly at how his voice carried. He muttered something about acoustics. Shinji edged closer to the stage, trying a smile. "I never knew you played an instrument. You're really good."

"I am subpar," she replied, glancing down at her viola. It was an old, polished work of expert craftsmanship the Commander entrusted to her years ago. The sound was deep and sure, constrained only by the limits of her skill.

"Well… Um, what piece were you playing?"

"It is Frederic Chopin's 'Tristesse,'" Rei told him.

It was a piece she heard many times during meals with the Commander. It was a favorite of his: a slow, measured solo without flourish or pretention. Rei memorized the notes, the syncopation, the tempo and technique but could never reproduce it exactly. Sometimes she struck upon a section that fit so close to the original a quiet flicker of electricity flashed through her. Sometimes she failed so completely and the shame hung so heavily it forced her to put the viola away. But she always returned to it because the Commander gave it to her. The concept of stopping playing was utterly foreign since she was not ordered to.

"I've never heard it," Shinji offered. He hesitated. "It's beautiful. But also kind of… sad?"

"Tristesse means sadness."

Rei never bothered attaching emotions to music. A song may inspire appreciation for its construction or technical difficulty but she didn't understand how a series of notes could evoke specific feelings. A song was a song. How people arbitrarily attached significance to one was of no concern to her.

"Oh," he said. "I guess it fits, then." He shuffled on his feet a moment, then blurted: "I play, too."

"The cello," Rei preempted.

"How did you know?"

"It is in your file." She watched his face morph from surprise to questioning hurt before tilting down from her. She wondered if she said something wrong.

"Sorry to interrupt," Shinji finally apologized. "I was sort of avoiding Asuka because she…" He frowned something away. "Anyway, I was wandering around and found this place." He looked over the chamber with wide eyes. "I never knew NERV had something like this. Did they ever hold a concert here?"

"It has never been used for public events."

"That's too bad; it's a great hall." He paused, slowly moving down the aisles. "Have you ever played for anyone?"

Shinji was the third person to hear her perform. Only her former teacher and the Commander witnessed her before. Her instructor had long since left Tokyo-3, spirited away to another locale when Rei surpassed the need for supervised training.

The Commander ordered periodic recitals to judge her progress. He never responded to her performances with anything beyond a staid nod or "it is satisfactory" but his brand of motivation was not based on superfluous praise or indulgent coddling. He believed her strong enough to hear the truth but with the unstated expectation she would improve. She felt it was his subtle way to encourage her. The Commander believed in her just as she believed in him.

Rei hadn't played Tristesse for him yet. It had to, at the very least, meet her own sense of what constituted an adequate reproduction. If it didn't pass her evaluation it stood no chance of passing the Commander's.

"Sorry," Shinji said again when she didn't answer. "I didn't mean to pry." He swallowed. "Um… do you mind if I stay here for awhile? But I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he added quickly. "I can leave if you want."

She watched him continue to shuffle on his feet. She wasn't ready for an audience, she thought. But she had no right to order Shinji to leave. He came of his own volition; his exit must be no different. But this was for the Commander's ears. He was the entire reason she began playing, the reason she kept playing. He was the reason she strove to be better than she was.

But time to practice was a luxury and she was sure Shinji would not be reporting her progress to the Commander. If he wished to stay she must let him, and her leaving would not accomplish anything. Her goal had not changed. She must adapt to the situation. Besides, he already heard her play.

"Do as you wish," Rei said, and positioned the viola to continue.

Shinji slid into the aisle five rows from the stage and sat, four seats in. He watched her intently. Rei began.

The hall filled with long notes, flowing over the aisles and winding around the pillars, climbing up to the tiers and tickling the domed ceiling. Shinji leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of the chair in front of him. Rei played, staring at the sheet music, trying to let concentration drown the gentle anxiety of being watched.

Her hands failed to communicate a change in tempo her mind knew and she stopped, upset with yet another failure to reproduce the song to her specifications. She took a breath, calmed the mild surge of emotion, and began again.

After three more aborted attempts to complete the piece, Shinji spoke with a small, unsure voice.

"Is something wrong?"

She debated what to reveal. She knew the Commander was an emotional subject for him, and more to the point, it was none of his business what her difficulties were. There was no possible way for him to aid her and fully explaining the situation would only cause problems.

But he was here, he was taking an interest. He was not simply a classmate. He was not simply a member of NERV. He was not simply a fellow pilot. Who he was, as ambiguous and anxious as their connection was, deserved a response.

"I cannot perform it the way it should be performed," Rei told him.

It was a segment of the truth she deemed safe to divulge. It was enough to satisfy his curiosity while remaining a necessary distance from him. There was now no reason to pursue the matter further. There was no reason for him to stay and hear her failure again.

"Maybe…" Shinji looked uncomfortable, trying to swallow the words. "Maybe you could make it your own?" He saw her lack of comprehension and hurried on. "I mean, your own take on the piece. Arrange it the way you want. You could change the tempo or the emphasis on different parts." He blushed when she simply stared at him. "You could… you could at least give it a try, maybe."

It never occurred to her to arrange the piece differently. If she did then it wouldn't be the Commander's favorite. It would be a pale imitation and an insult to his preference. It would imply she knew how to improve the piece and render his taste inferior. It was his taste that spurred her on.

She practiced the viola because he told her to. She practiced his version of Tristesse because he enjoyed it. Practicing another song, even another version of his favored song, would not lead to her desire of the Commander praising her for the ability to reproduce what he took pleasure in.

"That would be pointless," Rei told Shinji.

He cringed backwards in his seat like he was struck. His gaze fell to the floor.

He abruptly stood and moved back to the aisle. "Sorry. I, ah, I have to go." He did not meet her eyes. "Sorry for bothering you."

Shinji hurried out of the hall without looking back, ducking into the side entrance he entered through. The doors shut heavily behind him, reverberating through the chamber.

Rei watched him go, then turned to her viola. Shinji was gone, she was free to practice again in solitude, but she paused.

She hurt him, she realized. She dismissed his advice and it upset him. His suggestion was indeed pointless to her but didn't he merit a softer refusal? She knew his mood was often dependent on others and their actions towards him, as well as their motivations, real or imagined. She could not predict his reactions to her and tried not to think about it. It only caused confusion and a delicate frustration she did not understand.

She regretted hurting his feelings but he was already gone, and any apology she could offer would delve into her drive to gain praise from the Commander for her playing.

_You're really good,_ Shinji told her.

But he never heard the Commander's favored version. His judgment was subject to his personal preference and not the actual standard.

_You're really good._

Rei considered what would happen if she did perfect the song and let the Commander hear it, and he did praise her. Would she be happy? Satisfied? Feel a sense of accomplishment? She dismissed Shinji's appreciation without hesitation. Would she dismiss the Commander's as well?

Or would she feel disappointment, she wondered. He never praised her for piloting and the one thing outside that world she found to connect with him would be lost. What else was left? She did not know if he had any hobbies or interests beyond the Project.

She did not know what she would do with his praise. But she did not know how to stop striving for it, either. It had become too enmeshed with practicing her instrument and only the Commander could order her to stop practicing. All she could do was keep trying.

_You're really good._

Nothing could be gained from dwelling on what she could not change. She pushed Shinji's hurt, embarrassed expression from her mind.

Rei took up the viola and slid the bow above the strings. After a moment she began playing, filling the hall with the echo of the Commander's song.

/\/\/\/\

End

Author notes: Hmm. I guess NERV having a concert hall isn't _too_ ridiculous. Manga NERV had that huge garden place.

I blanked on whether Rei played the viola or violin in Death. If I'm wrong here, yell at me to demolish my self-confidence.

OMAKE

Shinji snuck into NERV's spacious concert hall, drawn by the unusual howling rhythm pounding from within. The hall opened before him and he was struck mute at finding Rei Ayanami alone in the middle of the stage, calmly thrashing away on an electric guitar, her face utterly devoid of emotion.

She spotted his dumbstruck face and abruptly stopped playing, patiently waiting for him to collect his faculties and either speak or get the hell out.

Shinji shook off his stupefaction but warily stayed by the exit.

"That's an, um, interesting piece you're playing," he said.

"It is Metallica's 'Master of Puppets,'" Rei responded.

It was the Commander's favorite, a piece of straightforward bruising metal. It accomplished what it set out to be: badass. Rei knew the song well. For some reason, the Commander insisted on pumping it through the speakers during her routine Dummy System downloads. Sometimes he would faintly mouth the lyrics, sometimes his hands would itch upwards to work an air guitar during the solos. On occasion even Dr. Akagi could be seen using a pen to absently drum on a clipboard.

"I didn't know you played an… electric guitar," Shinji offered.

"It is the instrument best suited to my temperament and personality."

He made a noncommittal humming sound. "You don't say. Well… I, ah, I need to go now." He left with a quickness.

Rei shrugged, then took up her axe and resumed rocking. "… _I'm your source of self-destruction_…"


End file.
